


i'll come out right on the other side

by simkjrs



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Gen, allusions to / spoilers for ouma's motives and his role in the game, allusions to the nature of the game itself, elevator fic, may or may not be expanded into full blown canon divergent au, shrodinger's oneshot, spoilers for hoshi's backstory?, takes place in chapter 2, this is the most important potential friendship to me in ndrv3 and i will ride or die with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-10 12:51:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12912285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simkjrs/pseuds/simkjrs
Summary: At that moment, the elevator grinds to a stop with a worrying creak. They both turn their heads towards the door expectantly.The lights in the elevator flicker out, plunging them into darkness.Ryouma pats his pocket for his packet of candy cigarettes and fumbles for a piece. The sound is loud in the absolute dark. “Ouma,” he says dryly, “I know you want answers from me, but I think this has gone a little far.”AU where there’s an elevator and Hoshi Ryouma, on his way to meet with Toujou, gets stuck in it with Ouma for seven hours.This changes things.





	i'll come out right on the other side

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to elevator fic. 
> 
> this happened because i tweeted "we all need to acknowledge the potential friendship & understanding that could come from hoshi and ouma stuck together in an elevator for 7 hrs" and couldn't stop thinking about it since, and now, one slippery slope later, here we are
> 
>  **chapter warnings:** claustrophobia?

 

When Ouma walks into the elevator, Ryouma only gives him a cursory glance before doing his best to pretend Ouma isn’t there. He doesn’t even consider giving Ouma a greeting, because any conversation with Ouma is always a headache and a half.

 

“Helloooo, Hoshi-chan,” Ouma says cheerfully, jabbing a thumb at the button for the third floor, even though Ryouma’s already pressed it and the button is clearly lit. “Fancy meeting you here so late at night! What could you possibly be up to?”

 

To meet Toujou in his lab, hopefully, and see what she wants. It sounded serious. “Nothing worse than you, I’ll bet,” he returns shortly.

 

Ouma laughs. “We~ell! It’s hard to top anything I do. I’m a supreme leader of an evil organization, after all.” The elevator doors slide shut. Ouma grins at him. “So it’s totally natural for me to be lurking out here in the nighttime, getting up to my nefarious deeds! But you’re a real stand-up guy, Hoshi-chan, of course it’d make a guy curious, you know?”

 

Ryouma sighs and tugs his beanie down over his eyes. “It’s none of your business,” he says firmly. The elevator moves slowly up.

 

Maybe he would be more inclined to talk to Ouma, if Ouma didn’t make it so difficult. And in a life-or-death situation like this killing game, there’s very little reason for him to try connecting with someone who doesn't want it. Ouma seems to have made it his personal mission to be as difficult as possible in all interpersonal matters, and even though Ryouma doesn't believe most of what he says, it doesn't make it any less annoying to deal with him.

 

“That just makes me even more curious!” Ouma says to him. “I can never resist a good mystery.”

 

“Then try harder.”

 

Ouma cocks his head to the side inquisitively. “Huh? But I’m a supreme leader, you know. What kind of supreme leader would I be if I didn’t toe the line a little every now and then?”

 

At that moment, the elevator grinds to a stop with a worrying creak. They both turn their heads towards the door expectantly.

 

The lights in the elevator flicker out, plunging them into darkness.

 

Ryouma pats his pocket for his packet of candy cigarettes and fumbles for a piece. The sound is loud in the absolute dark. “Ouma,” he says dryly, “I know you want answers from me, but I think this has gone a little far.”

 

He’s mostly joking about blaming Ouma. The timing is a little coincidental, though.

 

“Wow, Hoshi-chan thinks this is my fault?” Ouma says curiously. “I’m flattered, I really am! But as much as I hate to admit it, I’ve got better things to do than this, you know?”

 

Ryouma takes a moment to digest that. It feels like Ouma is telling the truth. Which is great and all, but then that only leaves one other possibility. They’re stuck in the elevator.

 

Well, fuck.

 

\--

 

It takes a few minutes to adjust to the faint amount of amber light that backlights the fire and alarm buttons. Even then, Ryouma can hardly see anything; a few inches in front of the buttons, and the light scatters into nothingness.

 

Ouma presses the _door open_ button a few times -- then the alarm button once, twice, then in a flurry, and then he abandons his cause and retreats back into the dark. If Ryouma hadn't already thought that Ouma wasn't responsible for this fiasco, that certainly would have convinced him.

 

He can't resist pressing the alarm a few times himself, for good measure. Nothing changes.

 

“I suppose we’re stuck here for the foreseeable future,” he says. He mentally apologizes to Toujou. Seems like he won’t be able to meet her -- and after he told her he’d be there, too. Well, she’s sure to understand after he explains. “Nothing to do but get comfortable.”

 

“Is that so,” Ouma says brightly from the other side of the elevator. “Well, if that’s how it is -- then I’d be more than happy to spend some time with you, Hoshi-chan! You can tell me all of your secrets. It’ll be just like a sleepover!”

 

Ryouma closes his eyes in irritation, but he holds back the sarcastic response on the tip of his tongue. Ouma’s voice is a little higher than usual, and there’s an odd, tense note to it. Somehow he has the feeling that Ouma isn't as affably unaffected as he'd like him to think. “The floor’s a bit uncomfortable, but there should be enough space to stretch out your legs and go to sleep. It’s nighttime, anyways. Might as well get some shuteye ‘til someone finds us.”

 

A bit too long of a pause. “Hmm, it really is like a sleepover then, huh? It’s not a proper sleepover if we don’t gossip for a bit, though, so let’s do that! So, Hoshi-chan…” Ouma’s voice dips low into something far more sinister than before. “How do you feel about being trapped in this killing game?”

 

Ryouma chews on his candy cigarette and thinks about the fact that he’s killed before. He thinks about the time he offered to let Rantaro kill him, in hopes that it'll end this killing game. He thinks about the fact that there’s no one left to care if he survives. Does Ouma know, he wonders. Ouma seems to know all sorts of things. “Just peachy keen,” he says dryly, instead of voicing any of his thoughts. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll get some rest.”

 

“Aw, and leave me all alone to my own thoughts?”

 

Ryouma doesn’t say anything. That sounded… well, he’s pretty sure Ouma was aiming for “lighthearted” and “irreverent,” but -- somehow, it's slipped a little too close to honest. As close to honest as Ouma ever gets, anyways, in between all his over-the-top declarations and mischievous misdirections.

 

“I hardly want to keep you company after the stunt you pulled this evening,” he says, finally. That entire fiasco with Gokuhara sure was something. “I’m sure you can deal.”

 

“Oh, that’s so mean, Hoshi-chan. I do these things for all of you, you know.” As hard as it is to believe, behind the playful tone, Ouma almost seems serious. “But that might be a lie!” Ouma adds a moment later, sing-song. Ryouma sighs again. Ouma is so difficult.

 

“Good _night,_ Ouma,” he says firmly, feeling his way to the corner and lying down on the floor. He crosses his arms behind his head and closes his eyes. The floor is cold, but he’s slept in worse conditions. He can make do.

 

Ouma badgers and whines at him a little longer, but Ryouma keeps his eyes shut and doesn’t respond, and eventually Ouma stops talking to him. And once he's finished off his candy cigarette, in the quiet and the dark, Ryouma drifts off.

 

\--

 

He can’t fall asleep all the way, though; the cold floor, the stale air, the darkness so absolute, the uncertainty of when they’ll be discovered -- _if_ they’ll be discovered -- it all presses at his mind, even as he tries to relax. It doesn't stop him from trying. There's nothing else to do in here except make conversation with Ouma, and he's too tired for that.

 

Plus, if he has to choose between conversing with Ouma and sleeping, well. At least he’s had practice with sleeping; or more specifically, the kind of sleeping you do in order to waste time, to avoid the tedium of being conscious, to avoid the pointlessness of being awake. That’s how Ryouma has spent most of his days, since the killing game began. He goes to breakfast, then goes back to his room to sleep for a few hours because there’s nothing better to do. He eats lunch. He stays outside for the afternoon in the vague hopes that he’ll find something he wants to do… but he doesn’t. He eats dinner, he returns to his room and sleeps.

 

And often, during the course of the night, he’ll wake up multiple times because his body has had more than enough rest. He’ll look blankly at the ceiling for a while, thinking about how wearisome it is, all this time spent awake. He’ll turn over and force himself to go back to sleep.

 

And now, after watching his motive video… Ryouma feels a dull, persistent pang somewhere in the vicinity of his chest, but he’s too tired to investigate it further. He just… he doesn’t want to be awake anymore.

 

Too bad Ouma is making that impossible.

 

Ryouma is first roused to wakefulness by Ouma tapping his foot on the floor. It’s a fast, insistent tempo, and in the small confines of the elevator, it feels incredibly loud. Ouma stops tapping for a couple minutes every now and then, but then he’ll start up his tapping again -- almost as if it’s unconscious thought, like he can’t help himself.

 

Ryouma lies motionlessly on the floor for a while, staring sightlessly up at the ceiling and trying to ignore Ouma’s fidgeting. It’s really starting to get on his nerves. Still, is it really worth the effort to break the silence and talk to Ouma? What’s the point? Why not just ignore it? Why not just lie here? Why?

 

…Because he can’t fall asleep to it, that’s why. He sighs and shifts, turning his head in Ouma’s direction. “Hey. Try and quit that tapping, will you? I can’t sleep.”

 

The tapping stops. “Sorry, Hoshi-chan!” Ouma says. “I’m just a little bored in here with nothing to keep me busy. Too bad, too, I could’ve been using this time to do all _sorts_ of nefarious things.”

 

Yeah, real nefarious. As if Ouma hasn’t been trying to lead everyone around to what he thinks are the right conclusions this whole time. His methods leave something to be desired, though, namely, him being a huge pain in the ass about it. You’d think Ouma would figure out that people are more likely to go along with his suggestions if he doesn’t make himself sound so suspicious all the time.

 

It would be way too annoying to say any of this out loud, though, so he just says, “Hmph. Whatever you say,” and intends to leave it at that.

 

“Hmm? It almost sounds like you don’t believe me, Hoshi-chan. You know I’m a man of my word.”

 

Ryouma snorts. “Who’d believe a single word out of your mouth?” Everything Ouma says is so _irritating_ \-- and, if Ryouma didn’t feel so apathetic and tired all the time, it would probably make him too worked up to realize what Ouma’s really trying to do.

 

“So mean,” Ouma says sadly, “and when I was so happy to stop fidgeting -- _just_ for you--”

 

“You’re tapping your foot right now,” Ryouma points out.

 

A pause, and the tapping stops. Ouma laughs. It sounds a bit strained. “Well, I am a liar, after all! But if you really need your beauty sleep that much -- who am I to get in the way! Anything to help!”

 

He could help by not talking. “Laying it on a bit thick there.”

 

“So mean,” Ouma repeats, and Ryouma can practically envision the disappointed head shake that goes with it. “But I’m willing to make sacrifices, of course -- anything to help my dear classmate -- even languishing here in the dark--”

 

“Ouma.”

 

The other boy laughs, a bit wildly. “Got it! Shutting up now!” Ryouma suspects that if he could see Ouma right now, he’d be pantomiming zipping his lips shut and throwing away the key.

 

And with that, Ouma falls silent, and everything is dark and suffocatingly still. The space feels too big and too small all at once, and with the cold of the elevator’s marble-like floor, with no noise to indicate the presence of anyone else, it makes the elevator feel like -- a crypt. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked Ouma to shut up after all…

 

What is he thinking? Ouma being quiet for once is a blessing. He shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

 

Ryouma shuts his eyes and drifts back to sleep.

 

\--

 

He’s pulled awake again by the sound of Ouma muttering. It’s quiet, barely a whisper -- but in the tomblike silence of the elevator, it carries.

 

“...eighteen, thirty, forty-two… Sixty, seventy two… one hundred and three? No, one hundred and… one hundred and two. One hundred and eight. One hundred and…” Ouma trails off. Then a frustrated hiss between his teeth. “Shut up, stop _thinking_ about it. One hundred and eight. One hundred and twelve. One hundred and… eighteen? No -- one hundred twenty?”

 

Another long pause. “Shut up,” Ouma whispers to himself again, “shut up, this is easy, just think about the numbers, this isn’t that hard. This isn’t that hard.”

 

There’s a bare amount of rustling as Ouma shifts around. He sounds… stressed. The elevator really must be getting to him, if Ouma is saying all this out loud, right where someone could hear his honest feelings. Maybe Ryouma should say something.

 

On the other hand, Ouma has done his damnedest to keep everyone at arm’s distance; doesn’t seem like he’d appreciate someone else hearing him in this state. Maybe it’d be kinder to pretend he’s still asleep.

 

Ouma starts mumbling out another series of numbers. Ryouma tries not to listen too closely. He lets the sound wash over him; it fades into the background, and he drifts off once again.

 

\--

 

An indeterminate amount of time later, he’s roused to wakefulness once more by the sound of Ouma pacing on the other side of the elevator.

 

Tap tap tap. A swish as Ouma’s coat brushes against the metal railing. Tap tap tap. Swish. Tap tap tap--

 

It’s an anxious pattern, almost frantic in nature. Ryouma opens his eyes and stares up at a ceiling he can’t see, listening carefully. Ouma’s breathing is just a little too ragged and a little too loud. Ryouma listens for a few moments longer.

 

After watching his motive video, he doesn’t feel much like dealing with Ouma. At all. Talking to him is like navigating a conversational minefield, and it demands more energy than Ryouma thinks he has to give. He’s mentally, emotionally exhausted, and he doesn't even know if Ouma will appreciate any efforts on his part. But here, listening to Ouma pacing the cramped length of the wall, like if he stops then he’ll go crazy, like if he stops his brain will eat itself alive…

 

Ryouma presses his lips together in resignation. He rolls over and sits up so the creaking rustle of his leather jacket will announce him. Ouma’s pacing ceases immediately. Probably didn’t want Ryouma to perceive any weakness on his part, or something unimportant like that. “We’ll get out of here soon,” Ryouma says.

 

“Ah, Hoshi-chan, are you trying to comfort me?” Ouma says with good cheer, but the brightness of it rings false. “There’s no need to worry about lil ol’ me. A supreme leader has no problem dealing with improbable situations like these.”

 

“I heard you pacing. You don’t need to lie.”

 

Ouma laughs. “That was just a bit of excess energy. There’s not much to do in here, you see.”

 

Seems like he’s not going to give up on this persona of his, but whatever. It’s his choice. “It’s gonna be a bit of a wait, but they’ll hardly leave us in here. We’ll get out.”

 

“Naturally,” Ouma says cheerfully. “The ringleader can’t have the participants of this killing game asphyxiating in an elevator, can they?”

 

“Who said anything about asphyxiating?”

 

Ouma doesn’t respond. He just starts pacing again. Strange; he usually has some kind of quip or response for everything. This elevator situation must be getting him kind of frazzled. “Calm down, Ouma.”

 

Ouma laughs again -- just a little bit wild. “I _am_ calm,” he says to Ryouma. “Or maybe not. Maybe I’m lying about all that. Maybe I am scared! Maybe I’m lying about that, too. All sorts of things can happen. The possibilities are endless.”

 

See, Ouma would be easier to talk to if he was just honest about these kinds of things. “Someone’ll find us soon. If not the other students, it’s like you said -- the ringleader’ll probably send Monokuma or the Monokubs to get us out. It’s been -- what, an hour already? They’re bound to notice.”

 

“One hour seventeen minutes,” Ouma says. Not like a correction, though. More like an absent afterthought, as if his mind is racing off to some other unknown dimension, utterly preoccupied elsewhere. “If we are too entertaining, the ringleader will leave us in here just to see what we do. In that case, it’s another six or seven hours until everyone wakes up and realizes that we’re not there.”

 

Ryouma lets out a slow breath. Then, “So panicking definitely won’t help, right? Lying down and sleeping is the least entertaining thing we can do. How the hell would the ringleader know what we’re doing, though? There ain’t any cameras in here.” Or anywhere else that he can think of, actually… so how the hell does the ringleader know what they’re up to at any given moment…?

 

Does Ouma know?

 

Ouma laughs at him. It falls short of his usual cheerful, insincere laughter, turning it into something stressed and slightly mocking instead. “Hey, that’s the question, isn’t it? Good job, Hoshi-chan, you finally noticed, you finally started asking the right things. What else are you gonna notice now? You’re way too behind.”

 

“If I’m behind, then catch me up on what you know,” Ryouma says sharply. “We all want to escape the killing game as much as you do.”

 

“Why would I want to escape? Games are so much fun. And isn’t all this murder so _interesting!”_

 

But Ouma says it impatiently, voice rising, like he’s reading off a script for which he has no love. He’s still trying to pull off that cheerful lying persona of his, and it’s kind of impressive, given how anxious he seems to be. His pacing has taken up a faster tempo. Ryouma debates what to say.

 

“I think out of all of us, you want this to stop the most,” he says carefully.

 

Another sharp laugh. “Hoshi-chan,it's like you haven't been listening to a thing I've said. Where’d you get that strange idea?”

 

Good question. If he wasn’t so low-energy all the time, he’s pretty sure he’d actually care about all the crap Ouma spews and get taken in by the act like everyone else… Detached as he is, though, some things are much clearer for him to see.

 

“I know you’ve always said weird things about how this is all a game, and commenting on the entertainment value of everything we do, but… man, if I actually listened to all the horseshit you spouted off on a daily basis, I’d never actually understand you.” Ryouma snorts. “But if someone ignores all the weird shit you say, they’d notice you’re always dropping hints and off investigating on your own… Plus, you try to help us all navigate the killing game in your own weird kind of way. Those aren't the actions of someone who doesn’t care.”

 

A moment later he adds, “No idea what good you think is gonna come out of pushing everyone away, though. That’s just uncool.”

 

The sound of Ouma’s pacing comes to a stop. In the elevator, it is dark, silent, tomblike, and even though Ryouma can’t make out anything but the amber outline of the elevator’s alarm button, he thinks he can feel the heavy, accusing weight of Ouma’s gaze.

 

“You sure read into things, Hoshi-chan,” Ouma says finally. “I am a supreme leader, you know. Maybe I’m just doing all of that for fun.”

 

Ryouma… expected better. He can’t help but roll his eyes. “For someone so proud of their lies, you can be awfully transparent.”

 

Ouma bursts into laughter before falling silent. Then, quietly and more serious than Ryouma has ever heard him before, “Transparent, huh…? If even you’ve figured that out, I must not be as subtle as I thought.”

 

“What do you mean, ‘even me’? It’s everyone else who’s oblivious. They’re all caught up in their own heads.”

 

“Haha, they are, aren’t they? But am I any better? What about you?”

 

He doesn’t seem to expect an answer, so Ryouma doesn’t respond. Sure enough, a moment later Ouma continues on with, “Can’t believe you saw through me so easily, huh… But what am I supposed to do? I can't stop lying now, can I? Hey, Hoshi-chan, wouldn’t it be easier if you just forgot everything that you figured out?”

 

“Why the hell would I want to forget?”

 

“Maybe because the truth is too much for you to handle! Hey, hey, for such an observant person, you really haven’t noticed much about this place we’re locked up in, have you?”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Aha, that’s what I thought. I’m still alone in this, after all…”

 

“If you want help, just tell me what you’ve noticed. Idiot.”

 

“But why would I? It’s right there for everyone to see.”

 

Ouma starts pacing again, and Ryouma sighs. Even now that he’s confirmed his insights are true, Ouma remains as frustrating to deal with as ever.

 

Well, Ryouma tried, and nothing much came out of it. There's no point in trying further. …There’s no point in much of anything he does, anymore. He closes his eyes.

 

\--

 

He does manage to sleep a bit this time. When he wakes up, it’s to Ouma’s ragged breathing, almost wheezing in the corner. A panic attack?

 

“Hey, Ouma. You okay?”

 

He hears Ouma swallow. “Fantastic,” the other boy gasps.

 

“Anything I can do to help?”

 

“Oh, nothing much!” Ouma says. His voice is trembling. “Just get us out of this elevator, let in some fresh air, so we can feel a fancy new breeze -- I’d swear my entire life to you, I really would. That’s a lot, you know, to have a supreme leader in debt to you. I’ll get you lifelong passes to the concerts of a band of your choice.”

 

What the hell, that was so -- honest. Uncharacteristically so. He’s definitely panicking. Ryouma needs to keep him talking, focused on something else, but what? Maybe if he can just keep up a casual conversation. “We may have some improbable talents in this school, but there’s not a single person here who really believes you when you say your talent is being a supreme leader.”

 

“How mean, Hoshi-chan. I swear I’m telling nothing but the truth about my organization.” Ouma takes another few shaky breaths. “But that might be a lie.”

 

“Almost everything out of your mouth is a lie. I ignore it as a matter of course at this point.”

 

Ouma lets out a startled laugh at that. “Haha, yeah, you -- you mentioned that, earlier! Awful confident in your perceptions, aren’t you, what will you do if I tell the truth for once and you didn’t listen?”

 

“Saw through your act, didn’t I?”

 

“How did you?”

 

Ryouma shrugs, even though he knows Ouma can’t see it in the absolute dark of the elevator. What is there to say? Ryouma has been refraining from forming any meaningful connections with others here; nothing good would come out of it. How could he not recognize it when someone else did the same? “Like I said, I started ignoring the things you said and focused on what you were doing instead. You’re a very lonely person.”

 

“Ah, empathy,” Ouma says, and goes quiet. “I didn’t take that into account. I see, I see.”

 

What does he mean, ‘take that into account.’ “Make a lot of plans with that weird brain of yours?”

 

“Oh absolutely, all day, it’s all I can think about. That’s what a supreme leader does. We plot, that’s what we do. But hey, Hoshi-chan, how terrible can you be, huh, seeing through me and ruining all my plans like this? Who’s gonna take responsibility?”

 

“How are your plans ruined by me thinking you’re full of horseshit?”

 

Ouma laughs. “You have _no_ idea,” he says. Then, “Hey, have you ever wondered why the ringleader is putting on this killing game? Why all this setup and effort? Why so insistent on sticking to their rules?”

 

He has, but whatever the ringleader's motive is, it's a bit beyond him. “...I guess entertainment value, like you said.”

 

Ouma makes a dismissive noise. “Well, _obviously._ But why? For who?”

 

He frowns into the dark. “...You think they’re showing this game to an audience of sorts?”

 

“We~ell, I couldn’t say for sure. But that’s what games are for, aren’t they? They’re for entertaining! And if it’s not entertaining _us,_ then.”

 

They’re both silent for a moment, chewing on this thought. Ryouma doesn’t know what to think. In some way, the logic makes sense, but the implications of it are… really awful.

 

“You were making plans to try and stop this game, didn’t you?” Ryouma says abruptly.

 

“Hm? Who, me?”

 

“If I pretended I never noticed anything about you and went along with all those lies of yours, would it still work?”

 

There’s a surprised silence, and then Ouma starts laughing -- really, really hard.

 

“Wow, Hoshi-chan,” he says. “For someone so cynical and gruff all the time, you really care a lot! How nice of you!”

 

“Well?”

 

Ouma just keeps laughing. “No, it’s ruined now,” he says. “Really, disgustingly, absolutely ruined. What am I supposed to do now? What is it?”

 

Ryouma doesn’t have an answer for that. But, he notes with some satisfaction, his distraction worked: although Ouma still seems distressed, his breathing has smoothed out, and his voice isn’t shaking anymore.

 

\--

 

It doesn’t last. Ryouma dozes off, and when he wakes up, Ouma is panicking again.

 

“You’re very claustrophobic,” Ryouma states, listening to Ouma taking deep, shuddering breaths in the corner.

 

“Wow, Hoshi-chan, your new insights really do astound me every day.”

 

Too bad it doesn’t stop Ouma from being a smartass. “It’s been at least three hours, hasn’t it? We’re halfway there.”

 

“Two hours, fifty two minutes,” Ouma says. His voice is muffled -- is he talking into his jacket or his arms or something? Well, whatever. Ryouma just needs to get Ouma focused on something else.

 

“Maybe try reciting the times table for me,” he suggests.

 

“But that’s so boring, Hoshi-chan.”

 

Ryouma rolls his eyes. “Fine. Then…” He casts around for some kind of annoying problem to keep Ouma occupied. “How many ways can you distribute a gold, silver, and bronze medal to three people in a group of eight players?”

 

“Three hundred thirty six. Not a bad problem, inspired by your sports background?”

 

How the hell did he compute that so fast? “I ain’t got as fast a brain as you, apparently, I gotta work with what I know. What’s the probability that if you draw five cards from a standard deck, you’ll get exactly one ace?”

 

A few seconds pass. “Four-choose-one times forty-eight-choose-four divided by fifty-two-choose-five. That’s around point three, I think.”

 

Ryouma lets out an impressed whistle. “You’re real quick at figures, aren’t you?”

 

“Pretty useless right now, if you ask me,” Ouma says quietly.

 

He doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just tries to think of another math problem. “…If you have forty-eight numbered balls and you…”

 

“Hey, Hoshi-chan.” Ouma interrupts him. “Tell me about your time as a tennis player, would you?”

 

Ryouma blinks. What’s with this strange request? ”…I’ve got nothing to do with that life now. Left it behind ages ago.”

 

“Whatever,” says Ouma. His voice sounds thin, reedy. “Just -- tell me something new. Make up a story if you have to.”

 

Ryouma doesn’t want to dredge up memories of his time as a tennis player. They had been great days, but… it’s depressing to think about. He can’t ever go back to that, not really. Not after his family died, not after he killed their killers, not after he was convicted and sentenced to execution. There’s no scrubbing that from his record, and even if there was, he wouldn’t be able to scrub it from his conscience either. To think of those golden days on the tennis court…

 

“Hoshi-chan?”

 

Ouma is in a real bad spot, though, and Ryouma doesn’t want to leave him there. He sighs. “Fine. But only this once, alright?”

 

Ouma huffs. “You’re the one who ruined all my plans. You owe me.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say.”

 

Ryouma sits up with a sigh and tugs his beanie down over his eyes, thinking back to his time on his school’s tennis team. There’s so much he could say, and so little he wants to, but he has to start somewhere.

 

“The most passionate person I knew in tennis was my captain,” he says. “I originally didn’t even think of joining a team, but this guy, he just walked right up to me and challenged me to a game…”

 

He talks, much more than he would normally. He gets lost in it. For a while there, he’s almost happy again. He talks until he loses track of time, until his voice is hoarse, and then until he’s out of stories, and then he says, “Ouma?”

 

Not a sound. Feeling around in the dark, he carefully crawls to the other end of the elevator, putting out his hands until he bumps into Ouma’s leg.

 

He stills, but Ouma doesn’t stir. A few minutes of waiting, and Ryouma concludes that Ouma’s fallen asleep.

 

Finally. Ryouma goes back to his side of the elevator and lies down to get some rest himself, and he can’t help the small smile that flits across his face.

 

\--

 

Ryouma startles awake at a distant shrill.

 

 _“Announcement, announcement!”_ he hears dimly. _“A body has been discovered! Everyone, please proceed to the gym!”_

 

Ryouma curses. “Someone’s been murdered again.”

 

In the dark, the rustling of cloth. “It was bound to happen,” says Ouma. “As long as everyone here is determined to return to the outside world, as long as they all still believe in it…”

 

He trails off, as if remembering that Ryouma is there to hear his thoughts, and then he laughs cheerfully. “Haha, don’t mind me, Hoshi-chan, I’m always spouting my horseshit.”

 

“Your lies are getting progressively worse,” Ryouma informs him. “I think you’re losing your touch, supreme leader.”

 

Ouma laughs again. “Well -- you’ve already seen right through me, haven’t you? Not much point in pretending anymore.”

 

“If there’s no point, then just drop the pretense entirely.”

 

“But Hoshi-chan, who would I be if I wasn’t a liar?”

 

Ryouma rolls his eyes and tugs at his beanie. Ouma is so weird. “Someone I could actually stand working with, maybe,” he grumbles.

 

A pause. “Work with?”

 

Ryouma hesitates. He wasn't really thinking when he said that, but the more that he thinks about it... why not? He has nothing to lose. “I ruined your plan, didn’t I? Someone’s gotta take responsibility.”

 

Ouma doesn’t say anything for a very long moment. Then, “Hey, you said I’m so full of horseshit, you know. But aren’t you offering to help me with all my horseshit even now? What’s the deal with that?”

 

Why does Ouma always make things more difficult than it has to be? “...You’re not so bad,” Ryouma says. He can hardly believe that he’s saying this, but… well, new revelations in this elevator have changed his opinion. “Plus you seem to have some idea of what you’re doing. More than can be said for everyone else. ‘Sides… I’d really like this game to end. Then maybe everyone can go home.”

 

Ouma is silent. Doubt? Hesitation? Ryouma barrels on. “You’re all kinds of paranoid, I know, what with all your lies and trying to push everyone away. I guess you don’t know who you can trust. But…” He smiles humorlessly. “The one person you can trust is the person who has no motive to kill, huh?”

 

“Your motive video,” Ouma says quietly.

 

Ryouma tugs his beanie. “Saw that, did you?” Somehow, with all the snooping around Ouma’s done, he’s not surprised.

 

“Yeah. Monokuma can be awful mean.”

 

It  _had_ been cruel, but that’s not the point now. “Hmph. So?”

 

“So?”

 

“You can’t do this all on your own, Ouma.”

 

The other boy catches his meaning immediately. “Haha, that’s quite a turnaround from when we got into the elevator. Didn’t you tell me not to get involved with your business? Now you want to get involved with mine? That’s a bit hypocritical, isn’t it, Hoshi-chan, what are you going to do about that?”

 

“Don’t be difficult,” Ryouma grumbles. “You’re just putting off answering.”

 

“...I guess I am.”

 

Ryouma waits, but Ouma doesn’t answer, and the silence between them stretches on until Ryouma’s patience finally snaps. “Let me guess,” he says. “It’s too dangerous to let someone close. They might betray you, or they might get inadvertently hurt in your plan. I told you already, though, I ain’t got anyone waiting for me. No reason to kill anyone. No reason to betray anyone. And what’s more, if I get hurt, there’s no one who’s gonna mourn me.

 

“My life ain’t worth anything anymore. Might as well make sure it’s used for something worthwhile… maybe you’ll find better use for it than me.”

 

The elevator lights flicker on. Ryouma winces and shields his eyes, and then he looks over at Ouma. The other boy’s hair is mussed, and there are dark circles under his eyes, and there’s something strangely vulnerable about how blank and uncertain an expression he's wearing. For a moment their eyes meet, and something sparks bright and fearful and hopeful all at once in Ouma’s eyes.

 

But then Ouma pulls a thoughtful look over his face, shuttering away that glimpse into his inner mind, and he grins as he crosses his arms behind his head. “Not a bad argument, Hoshi-chan! Maybe you’ll be some use after all,” he says cheerfully. “A supreme leader’s gotta have some minions around to do their work. But it’s not so easy to join, you know? You’ve gotta go through a few tests first.”

 

“Like what?” Ryouma says, deadpan.

 

“Hmmm…” Ouma puts a finger to his chin. “I’ll think of something!”

 

The elevator lurches to life. Ryouma gets to his feet, watching the display at the top: _Floor 2,_ it says in glowing red, and then, finally -- _Floor 3._

 

“And Hoshi-chan,” Ouma adds, suddenly serious. Ryouma glances over -- does a double take. Ouma isn’t smiling, isn’t frowning, isn’t showing any of those exaggerated, false expressions of his. He looks serious, intent. And he looks Ryouma in the eye and says quietly, “Don’t say there’s no one who’d mourn you. I would remember.”

 

Ryouma stares, at a loss for words.

 

Ouma breaks eye contact. A moment later, he’s smiling his insincere smile again, crossing his arms behind his head and humming under his breath as if he never said anything at all. A bell chimes. The elevator doors open, and standing there is Toujou -- and Monokuma himself, with that leering grin of his.

 

“Hoshi-kun, Ouma-kun, good morning,” Toujou greets. “I’m glad to see you are well. I apologize that it took so long to fix the elevator; as soon as Monokuma alerted me of the problem, I came as fast as I could.”

 

“I can’t have you two missing the investigation or the class trial!” Monokuma says, putting his paws to his mouth. “You’re in for the excitement of a lifetime!”

 

“Hm.” Ryouma tugs his beanie again. “If by excitement you mean murder, I’ve had enough of that in my lifetime, thanks.”

 

Ouma skips out of the elevator. “Well, I’m _all_ excited for this game, myself!” he says. “I’m so disappointed I missed out on all the action! What happened with the elevator?”

 

Monokuma makes a _tsk-_ ing noise. “Someone very naughty sabotaged it!” he says. “No worries, though, it’s all been fixed! You are now free to enjoy this killing game to the fullest!”

 

Ryouma steps out of the elevator. “Whatever,” he says. “So, the gym, was it?”

 

Toujou nods. “We have much to investigate.”

 

“Better get started then.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and starts walking down the hall.

 

Footsteps pattering on the tile floor, and then Ouma falls into pace beside him, hands crossed behind his head and a grin firmly fixed to his face. He’s back to playing his persona, then. “Don’t leave so quickly, Hoshi-chan! Aren’t games more fun when they’re played with others?”

 

Ryouma raises an eyebrow. “Decided on an answer, have you?”

 

Ouma hums and smiles. He doesn’t answer. Maybe he doesn’t need to.

 

“Alright, then,” says Ryouma, quirking his lips. “Let’s go.”

**Author's Note:**

> and thus,  
> 
> 
> not sure if this is going to get continued. it's been kicking around in my head though, so let me know if you want to see more.
> 
> thank you to [auz](http://auzpicious.tumblr.com/), [alien](http://firecrier.tumblr.com/), and [annie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueseawitch/pseuds/blueseawitch) for beta reading this! 
> 
> as always, feel free to [visit me on tumblr!](http://simkjrs.tumblr.com/)


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